Saturday, December 5, 2009

funny.

it's weird to think how I could go from caring about a person so much, to disregarding their existence.

Thursday, November 19, 2009

My Darling Icarus:

and ever so sweetly,
the bird of reason sings.
what you love, you must lose,
much like your wings.

and all that you were,
or could ever hope to be,
will be burned by the sun
and lost in the sea.

Youth.

The clock never stops.
we must exert and exhaust,
to cherish all we've found,
and forget what we've lost.

An opposable force
Our strong state of mind,
a code of delinquency
never failing to bind.

That which we value most,
only time can steal.
Our naivety fleeting,
Our struggle is real.

Friday, November 6, 2009

A season for everything.

The days we spoke
grew few and far between.

Summer past,
and Autumn fell.
A discontent grew,
where once all was well.

Pomegranates ripened,
coloured of a lover's blood,
an empty doorstep,
where your soul once stood.

Now seasons dwindle,
I can only bereave,
Such as trees must,
when they lose their leaves.

Thursday, November 5, 2009

The Battle of the Stick and the Sword.

The trouble with ink,
is it's delibility,
it's credibility,
it's blatant ability
to make us believe.

In lead or graphite,
we can deny
but blue or black
holds a truth.
It shows mistakes,
we've tried to hide
and words crossed out
we dare not say.

But words in grey,
are insecure
words of fear
and words not sure.
All unclear,
Erased and muddled.
opinions reformed,
and thoughts befuddled.

We hide our truths,
with one fell swoop
and hope it goes untouched.
For smearing would only
spread the lies.

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

When there's nothing left to believe in.

Thoreau once said, “Things do not change, people change.” Personally, I think that’s bullshit.

In the town where I grew up, a depressing microcosm of what I’d soon discover to be all too similar to the world outside, everything changed. Granted it was a gradual change, a slow shift of all things we knew to be true, into something we could hardly decipher, let alone claim to understand. It was a social, generational, hypothetical landslide that taught us more about ourselves than life itself. But it was a change nonetheless.

Not to say we didn’t change. We were seeds. Some of us grew, some of us withered, and some of us even died. Regardless, we all changed. A few changed for the better, and others turned into cynics, and naysayers. Obviously I can’t speak for everyone. In retrospect, we really had no choice but to adapt. It’s kind of like how some animals change their diets based on what’s readily available in order to survive. Well, this was just our way of surviving. Our minds changed, our habits changed, our morals changed, all to adapt to a changing world. It’s almost funny now that I think of it.

Sunday, November 1, 2009

Infidelity.

There comes a time when you realize you can only be hurt so much.
Now, there's no place to go but up.

Thursday, October 8, 2009

naivety has left the building.


they were all sitting cross legged on the floor.
and then her soul got up, and just sort of..left.

Saturday, September 26, 2009

Pacific.

The rocks were full of secrets. The tiny crevices between them mere frown lines discouraging me from finding out the truth laced throughout their granite existence. But, I already knew. A sad truth but one not unlike my own. A realization that up close, the things we once marveled and guffawed at, are never quite as extraordinary as they seem. At a distance, sure, they glisten with the sheen of an irredescent pearl. But up close we find that the beauty was only a mirage. An illusion. That things can never be as great as we can dream up in our minds. That the stories we believe to have defined us turn out to be nothing more than embellished fabrications. Scenes from movies, or books we never quite finished, pieced together in our memories to create a personal montage of a life that never quite existed. That one day, we'll realize the legacy we've exhausted ourselves in creating was no more tangible than the proverbial skeletons in our closets.

I could disregard the ocean. Constant, yet changing. The crest of each wave drawing from somewhere deep within me a hardened distrust. Whether it be woven in my DNA or built up from years of consequential hardships I associated with the "great" pacific, it was there. Evident in the way I could never bring myself to the shoreline, or even bring myself to let it's salty fingers grasp at my sun-worn feet.

But the rocks, they would never lie to me.

Sunday, August 23, 2009

Conclusion.

Some of the people I enjoy hanging out with the most, are the people I've known since I was 5 years old.

Saturday, August 15, 2009

And he asked faintly as the ship slowly became flooded, "Is it too late to give this ship to second in command?"

For so long the master of my domain,
now only the keeper of what remains.
A broken spirit and a hollow voice,
A quiet soul in a sea of noise.
Tiny hands that can't do well,
Logic swallowed in the Autumn swell.
A weakened mind and nothing more,
a plundered ship on the ocean's floor.
A waterlogged pile left to rot,
a beauty that the world forgot.

Dear Self.

You are worth so much more than you give yourself credit for.
So much more than the hurt that you have been subjected to this summer.
You are a child of God.
You have a purpose.
You have a future.
You will be loved for who you are one day.
You are destined for great things.
You must never forget that though then journey is bumpy, the destination is worth the distress.
Hold on tight kid.

-Love, Hannah.

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

I thought you should know.

When someone has a secret,
and someone else finds out about this secret,
is it still a secret?
Because true secrets are things kept only to oneself.
So no one could ever tell your secret because
once they know
it is no longer a secret.
and if it is no longer a secret,
what do you call it?
A fact?
No.
I wouldn't suppose so.
It might be a lie.
and if secrets aren't facts,
and secrets aren't always lies,
and secrets aren't tangible.
I don't think they can be considered things..
and if secrets aren't things,
then why do we as humans cling so tightly to our own?







Go ahead.
Tell.

Friday, July 24, 2009

Day 25.

But I'm tugging on the pant leg
of all my wasted time
and begging for a chance to prove myself.

While you laugh,
a sinister cackle
as you sip your rum and coke.

You wipe at an invisible smudge
on the collar of your oxford
pretentiously.

and You scoff.
For You know
that time is like the cold bar floor.

Vile and unforgiving.

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

La Capital.

I think I ate the best thing I ever have tonight.
Pan-Seared Rainbow Trout with a summer squash, potato, cauliflower, and carmelized onion hash.
I felt it was definitely blogworthy.

Pork and Beans.

If You're Into it.

video

Day 24.

Really crappy microphone, don't listen to it too loud.
video

Saturday, July 18, 2009

Thursday, July 16, 2009

Oregon.

I am leaving today.
It will be nearly impossible to keep up with my thinging while I'm gone.
I shall continue with the last 7 days most likely when I return.
Though it is possible one or two might be completed in my time away.

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

Day 22.




I think I shall make a slug one to go with it.

Tuesday, July 14, 2009

Day 21.


Take.

emotional thing a day.

Monday, July 13, 2009

Day 20.

To repress.
To undress.
To confess.
To say less.

Write down a number. Just a ballpark.

To compromise.
To jeopardize.
To publicize.
To win their prize.

What do you think it's worth?

To complicate.
To toy with fate.
To bear the weight.
To take the bait.

Everyone. Has a price.

To play their role.
To fill that hole.
To sell their soul.
To lose control.

So uh..did you want that in large or.. small bills?

Sunday, July 12, 2009

Day 19.



The wider beads are made of paper =]

Saturday, July 11, 2009

Day 18.


My first successful screen-printed tee.
I don't know why, but I really like the goldfish.
I think he's....classy.
Notice the coordinating thread on the sleeves =]

Friday, July 10, 2009

Day 17.


Monster number 2.
I call him JD.

=]

Thursday, July 9, 2009

Wednesday, July 8, 2009

Day 15.



Ezekiel the monster.



At least he can scare away miniature schnauzers.

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

Day 14.

Today I made a plastic bag print stamp.
I'm not too much in the mood to take pictures.
Maybe later.

Monday, July 6, 2009

Day 13.


Upcycled Necklace.
Made of Magazines.

Sunday, July 5, 2009

Day 12.

Tacky picture I know.
But at least I'm not throwing a peace sign.
Made of old T-shirts.

Day 11.

Looking forward,
I see my past
A picture show
that never lasts.

Unedited
In black and white,
Smiles forced
My words contrite.

Encounters all
so choreographed,
lines rehearsed
But the story daft.

Scenes are short
and sets are cheap.
and dreams are scripted
while I sleep.

Friday, July 3, 2009

Day 10.





New Favorite.
and it works =]

Thursday, July 2, 2009

Day 9.




Thank you card.
Made with my beautiful new stamp.

Wednesday, July 1, 2009

Day 8.



So far, my favorite day.
Roald Dahl Upcycled Bracelet.
The perfect mix of literature and fashion.

Today was my first day of work.
Basically, I get paid more than minimum wage to sit in the shade and talk to people and play with worms. and I get as much free sweet corn as I want.
Best job ever.
And I started MMA training yesterday and train again tomorrow. Woot.

Day 7.

Today, I made two new friends.

Monday, June 29, 2009

Day 6.



Monogram.

"Hope, dangles on a string, like slow spinning redemption.."

Sunday, June 28, 2009

Day 5.

Today, I made a move out of my comfort zone. Talking to people I've never met about personal things.


I don't care. I'm counting it.

Day 4.

so I'm 8 minutes late. sue me.

I can take this now,
soft and slow.
The Coup De Grace,
the final blow.

But should it be,
that it's my time
My work is through,
I've done my crime.

Hilt to chest,
and regret to say
a forlorn farewell,
Ah, Touche.

Friday, June 26, 2009

Day 3.



Silver ring.
Made of:
wire.


goodnight.

Thursday, June 25, 2009

Day 2.


Kinda Crappy.
Ok really crappy.
and kind of a 90's throwback.
Whatever.
Made of:
Silver tulle
Hair notions

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

Day 1.



Parisian Travel Book.
Made from:
Wallpaper samples
Scrapbooking supplies
And one of those nasty black and white spotty memo books.

Thing-A-Day.

Today starts my 29 Day challenge.
Basically, what I will do for the next 29 days is make something, anything, EVERY DAY.
It can be a recipe, a song, a poem, a picture, literally anything. As long as I make it.
Pictures shall ensue.
Wish me luck.
Readdddddddddddddy go.

Monday, June 22, 2009

Part two.

There had to be a reason though. There was always a reason. I’m sure Denny’s girlfriend Kaita would attribute this to some deep rooted childhood trauma. But she was a psych student. She thought everything was caused by some deep rooted childhood trauma.

I tried desperately to retain the taste in my mouth. To savor it, even if just for a moment more. That was definitely a first. Half a bottle of Listerine usually followed Denny’s creations. They went hand in hand. Just how connoisseurs matched wine with their meals, I matched mouthwash with whatever Denny fed me.

A basil ridden disaster might be paired with an aged peppermint. Where as a crisp spearmint might compliment a spicy sautéed monstrosity.

Not tonight though. Tonight was different.

For the first time I could remember, I wanted to taste what he had prepared.

Not because it tasted good. But because it intrigued me.

I sat and pondered for a while.

I got up and walked to the living room, and took a seat on an overstuffed, heinous, floral chamois. Immediately I was enveloped in a cloud of dust.
Coughing, I was able to mutter, You really should clean this place up.

Yeah, yeah. Denny hissed. I’ve only had it for a month. It’s not like I plan on staying here long.

He had inherited this fine piece of architecture from his mother’s great aunt. Whom he had met a total of two times. Some sort of family debacle and Denny ended up with full custody. There was more to the story than that but I had blocked out all I thought to be superfluous. All I needed to know was that I had a bedroom and a half bath all to myself, rent free courtesy of the ranting man-boy sitting next to me.

You know, you’re lucky I’m a nice guy.

Yes Denny, I know.

‘Cause most people wouldn’t let a slob like you waltz around here…

3.2.1.

Anddddd…drowned.

Maybe I was delusional to actually consider this a decent place to think.

By the time I reached the landing after the first flight of stairs, Denny’s whining was nearly inaudible.

The numbing was in full swing now, permeating the layers of skin that lined my throat and caressing my uvula.


TBC..

Sunday, June 21, 2009

Part One.

How does it taste?

Eff it. I’m not trying another one of your “recipes”

Dude. Just one more time, I swear it’s better than the last one.

Or three or four?

Just try it for Pete’s sake.

He walked across the peeling linoleum in a faded gingham apron, and judging by the muddled stains it was another one of his thrift shop finds. His chestnut coloured hair cemented to his forehead with an appetizing mixture of sweat and grease. He held a splintered wooden spoon to my face. Insisting that I actually put the musky smelling substance in my mouth.

Please, if you hate it, you can spit and out and you’ll never have to try anything I make ever again.

That’s what you said last time.

And did you spit it out?

No, because it burned through the lining of my stomach before I could.

Exactly, so think about how slight the chance is that this won’t be even a little bit better.

I think you might possibly possess the most flawed log..

Dude. Shove it.

With that, he came at me with his viable cutlery weapon and quicker than I could smack my lips shut, the vile ooze was already festering inside my cheeks. It became evident to me that he did not intend to have his creation regurgitated onto his decrepit floor and no sooner than I allowed the congealed mess to trickle down the back of my throat did he lessen his grip on my face. As I sat awaiting my eminent death I hear an almost giddy,

Soooo…..how is it? He held his curled fingers close to his chest.

How is what? My face? Hurting. My pride? Hurting. My..

The soup! How is the soup??

So that’s what you’re calling it?

Just do me a favor. Shut the hell up and tell me what it tastes like.

Grey.

Grey?

Yes. It tastes. Grey. Yup, Grey.

How in the world does something taste like a color? Denny started pacing and tossed his embarrassing apron over a high chair that had to be at least a century old. I could maybe understand if you were eating a piece of fruit from Florida and you said it tasted orange. But grey? Meh Meh Meh. Where do you get off…

That’s about when I drowned him out. Even if someone gave me a thousand years and a Princeton trained research team, I doubt I could ever find a point in listening to him when he got like this.

I scraped my tongue against the back of my teeth and the last of the soups residue mixed with saliva and I was inclined to swallow as if pushed by a force greater than myself. As I did so, a dull numbness started to creep through my gums and tongue. It was a slow progression, soft but not overwhelming, like a child sneaking into the kitchen late, late at night for the very first time.

Denny. Have you tried this yet?

He kind of chuckled and muttered something to the extent of ‘oh, you’ as he walked into the living room.

Fantastic.

He clicks on the archaic television that I’m sure had to be one of the first prototypes. Warbled and out of pitch voices drift through the old Victorian house followed by a brief moment of pre recorded laughter. All those old sitcoms are the same. A realistic character with mothering tendencies usually with a touch of cynicism, an antagonizing and annoying friend or neighbor, and at least one unbelievably goofy character that almost makes you cringe at times. Hilarity ensues.

I remained seated around the oak kitchen table, trying to occupy my mind from sorting out my last will and testament.

How on earth did the soup taste grey? I hadn’t really given it much thought, I just..answered. The soup just tasted grey. Just like how Denny was a mess of frugality and un-haltered ingenuity. Or how most of the actors on that old sitcom dabbled in drug addiction or alcoholism or a cornucopia of eating disorders. These things were just facts. And the soup just tasted grey. My opinion had nothing to do with it.



TBC..

Friday, June 19, 2009

Greatly Needed Opulence.

Sometimes if you got it, you just need to flaunt it.

Wednesday, June 17, 2009

Sleep.

Should darkness mask what fallacies not,
then what lies in light be pure.
Should love avail what hope forgot,
then in my faith I'm sure.

Tuesday, June 16, 2009

Let me come with you radiohead, I can rhyme too.

Gravel roads and worn-out sneakers
Candle wax and pouring rain.
Now I'm gone,
but it's still happening.

Friday, June 12, 2009

Who am I kidding. I still take naps.

Give Mother back her pumps
wipe that mascara from your eyes.
Don your Power Ranger slippers
and we'll give this one more try.

Think youth.
Think child.
Think hope.
Think games.
Think stories.

Put your latest date on hold
cover up a tad bit more,
Tie your hair back into tails
and sit cross legged on the floor.

Think laughter.
Think fun.
Think carefree.
Think dreams.
Think truth.

Stop texting for a moment,
your "BFFs" can wait.
I just want you to remember
when they used to be playmates.

Think recess.
Think naps.
Think courage.
Think straightforward.
Think memories.

Categorize them old and new,
keep them stored and filed.
But the thing you must remember,
You will always be my child.

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

How to Disappear Completely.

Strobe lights and blown speakers
Fireworks and hurricanes
I'm not here
This isn't happening.

Wednesday, May 20, 2009

Appreciation.

"I, am thankful for you."
If sweeter words could have been said, may I be struck down at this moment.

In other news...
This summer marks the start of my enterprise. There are still pieces out of place, and connections that undoubtedly need to be established, but it's getting there. The delusion of grandeur, cough er.. concept, upcycling.

Upcycling: N. The practice of taking something that is disposable and transforming it into something of greater use and value.

Brilliant, no? Finally, something to look forward to. I've always been the self-sufficient type, and this only fuels my proverbial fire. This endeavor will not be instantly gratifying. I think I need that.

Sunday, May 10, 2009

Land of the hummingbirds.

Fly with me darling,
come take my hand.
I'll tell you of stories,
the grandest of grand.

We'll fox-trot with dawn,
dew drops on our faces.
Cling tight to our dreams,
of far away places.

No one will see us,
for who'd ever dare,
to travel to a land,
that was never really there.

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

Altoids tin full of hardcore.



Keep your over the counter,
I need a prescription.
Something fast something quick,
to fuel this addiction.

Did I say addiction?
I meant disease.
I couldn't be the cause,
of symptoms like these.

No I couldn't have birthed it,
not nary a chance,
but I let secrets like blood,
now hand me a lance.

Xanax or Prozac,
I want something stronger.
Eight hour relief,
I need something longer.

Something to numb me,
like Ativan,
I think we can do better,
Yes, we surely can.

Put me to sleep,
with a tranquilizer.
We'll be dead before the morning
and no one will be the wiser.

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

Come on, Garby loves you!

Today, I am thankful for Drew bringing me a new book to read. I am also thankful it appears my oil has stopped leaking. and lastly, I am thankful for God.

Monday, April 20, 2009

This weak.

and I am going to pray for everyone who I encounter each day.

Sunday, April 19, 2009

Expurgate.

There is something,
that lives within.
A tiny being
apart from myself.
It makes decisions
disregarding my opinions.
It gives the appearance
of conflict.
A deceptive duality.
It makes me question my motives.
I wish I could
tell it how I feel.
But I fear
it might wreak havoc.
It is a vengeful being.
I wish it would leave.
I can only hope.

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

The five point virus.

The tiny nodules,
scream out in agony.
Infected.
The virus grips them
with gloved hands,
soaked in ammonia.
They suffocate.
A dull absence.
and 16 years are lost.
Never to be regained.
Every ounce drained.
Every thread of creativity,
executed.
The guillotine blade drips
of farcical standards.
Burned.
The ashen remains set aside for a date unspecified.
Year after year.
The virus takes it's toll.
No longer malignant.
It's effects are exponential.
Taking and squeezing.
Asphyxiating and crushing.
abrogated.
The gap of definition
decreases with each wretched mark.
Alas! We are but a number.
A tally.
A score.
No face.
No name.
No significance.
The ashes of individuality are gathered.
Placed into a vase, the shell of our former selves.
Empty now.
Tied with a ribbon of compliance.
They place it in our hands.
The frail cardstock reads:
Happy graduation.




I hope this effectively expresses my utter hatred of star testing.

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

Adventures of the bunnies.

So yesterday, indescribable. If you know what I'm talking abut then so be it. And if you don't you most likely don't need to. Then today Shelly, Chels, Allex, Nicole, and I dressed out (see picture.) including bandanas tied to what apparently looked like bunny ears. Thus the loving and respectful nickname of "the playboy bunnies" at Laser Qwest. Then we ate delicious sushi at Wassabi. In a nutshell, I am destined to make this the best spring break ever.

Sunday, April 5, 2009

70.

I wanted to save this somewhere and beings as that Im not on my computer, I figured this was as good of a place as any.
Don't read it.


Sixteen years ago, on an insignificant day in history, a child was born. This baby was unlike that baby born in manger we so often hear about. This baby was not a savior, this baby was not blameless, or holy, rather, this baby would go through adolescence making inumerable mistakes and screwing up more times than anyone around her could count. She would not save humanity, although she liked to think she did impact a few people. She made decisions she would regret for years to come and she let down people very close to her. Of course she wasn't a complete detriment to the world, she contributed to society through any and every artistic medium. Regardless of her faults, for some reason there were people who still loved her. She tried not to care what people thought of her, although through her teen years, this became increasingly difficult. She learned things and developed her own opinions after finding that it's never a good idea to be spoon-fed your ideals. Luckily at a young age, she found it was impossible to go this life alone and relied on God to help her. Sometimes she would question her faith when things got tough, but through several unfavorable circumstances, she realized that bad things often do happen to good people, but life goes on whether she liked it or not. And it was always easier to have God by her side. She found that people don't always keep promises, and she found that people change just as often as clothing trends do. She developed some important relationships that taught her many things about life, happiness, and other matters of the sorts. As for now though, she is just trying to live her life, keeping in mind that circumstances change quickly, and it's best to see the silver lining even in the darkest of clouds.

Wednesday, April 1, 2009

Irhyme.

A divine intervention,
please don't interrupt.
Everything's to my liking,
albeit corrupt.

A divine refusal,
no need for a hand.
A declaration of infidelity,
just as I planned.

Sunday, March 29, 2009

Oh no, you girls'll never know.

Five months ago today I wrote myself a letter.
At the time, it seemed completely appropriate.
Now, it seems terribly critical.
Iffen I were to meet myself that day, I don't think I would've liked me.
It's strange to go back and read some of the things I've previously written.
Some days it sounds like me, others it's a stranger's thoughts.
Still, I'm glad I write. It makes me remember. And sometimes even though I don't want to, I know that I need to.

Saturday, March 28, 2009

Summer.


Means dresses.
and no make-up.
and no responsibilties.

Thursday, March 26, 2009

Pilgrimage of the Monarch.

With a flutter
so delicate,
residue remains.
An iridescent powder
dusts my insides.
Their friable wings once tickled
but now instead they chaff.
And the powder brought
giddiness,
But now it infects.
All that made me smile
leaves blisters
on the fragile membrane.
A plague on my insides.
I cannot stop the havoc
they wreak.
It is impossible.
For tearing into illusions,
is like tearing into clouds.
An invisible swarm
yields tangible damage.
Butterflies, why won't you let me be?

Sunday, March 22, 2009

tap, chip, crack, shatter.

Morals like windows,
can't resist pressure.
Single pane
Single Pain.
tap, chip, crack, shatter.
beware of the shards of misconceptions.
"But it doesn't count, cause I didn't know."

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

A scientific breakdown for words unheard.

So my words decompose,
like rotting leaves.
Leaving fumes of distrust
and decrepid consonants.
At the bases of trees,
the piles fester.
Much like apples.
A summer's harvest
Gone awry.
They mean nothing.

Thursday, March 12, 2009

you are the bottom to my pit.

Like dominos,
we fall.
A delicate balance.
Gone.
Rectangles of aspirations,
trapped in a downward spiral.
A white palette,
tinged with dots of desperation.
But our fate
was not predetermined.
Our destiny,
dripping like scarlet
from our self-righteous hands.
And the rungs to
our ladder,
have long since rotted.
All that remains
the musty stench of
decomposing delusions.
Our future,
no longer a question.
But an emminent answer
that only circumnavigates.
Yet the irony in it all?
We pushed the first one.

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

doubly generic.

I apologize dear,
for I'm sorry to say
that when we leave things to fate,
they seldom happen our way.

The coinciding factors
don't always coincide.
While the planets should align
they instead just collide.

and I've come to conclude,
that tables rarely turn,
and time is hardly in our hands.
Alas,
it is nearly impossible,
to meet all of love's demands.

generic.

If I could,
I would go against the grains..
of sand.
They draw the line.
impossible to cross.
So there the line sits,
waiting for a specific moment,
at an unspecified time.
Her hair flows
in the winds of separation.
With the lilac scent of
yearning.
Should it be made of glass,
I dare not break it.
For I'd be at fault,
and you'd be in danger.
and if it were as clear,
as the salty rivulets
ceasing to dry,
I might be able to
respect it's boundaries.

Monday, March 9, 2009

Today was well,

Good.
But bad.
At the same time.
Very bad that I got pulled over.
Very good that I got out of possibly three tickets.
So it equals out to be, average?

Saturday, March 7, 2009

Filters.

I haven't written in a few days, I'm not really sure what's been up.
I was at the Getty museum all day yesterday with some kids from art club and my travel buddy Adrian, absolutely beautiful. (The Museum haha)
I might try to post some pictures on here, but I'm sure they will be cut off like all my others.

So there has been something I've been thinking about for a couple days, and I didn't write about it for the sole reason that I'm just not sure if I have the right words.

As we were sitting on the back of Matt's truck the other day, my neighbor Jason put my sunglasses on and started looking around.
"Everything looks so, I dunno..rosey."
I kinda laughed.
Two days later I'm sitting in my room reading and I look across my room. It's basking in a subtle but beautiful golden coloured light. I look up at my windows and see the mid day sun shining through my richly hued curtains.
This is when I start to think.
I see a lot of my world through filters.
Changing, recolouring, altering the way I see things.
Not just physical filters, but mental and psychological filters as well.
The things people tell me change the way I see things.
The music I listen to changes the way I percieve situations.
They are filtering everything around me.
I haven't decided if I like this or not.

Saturday, February 28, 2009

weekling.

You know, I don't think I can complain about this past week at all.
I prayed a lot.
I volunteered four days this week.
I worked out four days this week.
I did all of my homework for all of my classes.
I saw a fantastic musical with people I love.
I ate healthier.
Apparently I seemed happier.
I finished an entire sculpture for my concentration project.
I went to two birthday parties.
I started working on my new quilt.
I finished an entire website.
I even had a song written about me.
I started two new books.
I wrote in my journal.
I got a sadies date.
I met someone new.
I practiced both electric and acoustic guitars.
I took a couple good portraits of my neighbors.
This week was productive.
This week was good.
It was really good.

Thursday, February 26, 2009

progress. day..3?

I used my new panorama tool =]

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

Lou.

Today the girls and I went to park Kingsburg with a plan to give manicures to elderly ladies. I was excited, as I tend to enjoy the company of elderly people as opposed to people my own age. In the past month I've learned a lot from my little monsters at Reagan, and that pleases me. But in a day, I learned just about as uch from two elderly ladies. My opinion of getting older was changed. I've never seen myself getting older. I see myself at 20. at 30. at 40. Then that's about it. I've always thought that I would die young. I'm not looking forward to it. But I'm not scared either. It's always just been something I've felt like I've known. And everyone's always told me, well if you think that way, you will die young! I don't buy into that. I've just come to accept it. Too add to it, I've never really wanted to get old. Because if I do, I know I'll be in constant pain. Even now at 16 if I don't take aleve or aspirin in the morning my days are miserable. My back has already given out on me, through fault of my own, but nonetheless it's given out.

But maybe I'm meant to get old. Maybe somehow my back will get better. And my knees and my ankles. Today one of the older ladies, Nancy said, "When you get older, you get to act like old people." "Hows that?" "Crazy." Then I found out she was 100 years old. That made me happy, but what really got me thinking was something that the lady who I gave a manicure to, Lou, said.

"It's not age. It has nothing to do with age. It's the mindset. My friends say 'Lou, how are you so active? It hurts to walk and be active anymore, I'm old and I can't do those things like that.' If you think you can't do things, you won't be able to. I know I'm old, but I don't think I'm old."

The public school system pt. 2.

I can't recall a time
when the binomial theorem helped me
solve a real problem.
Or when my life depended on
my knowledge of ancient India.
Nor a time when someone liked me more,
because I knew when to use who instead of whom.
Nowadays there is no correlation
between "education" and learning.
Teach me to love unconditionally.
Teach me to be selfless.
Teach me to do things for the betterment of others.
Teach me to believe.
Teach me to trust.
Then, maybe I will learn something.

Sunday, February 22, 2009

The public school system.

Yes darling, it's true
you look brilliant on paper.
But if I pulled a Montag,
then what would we have?
A whole lot of nothing
and a handful of ash.

451 degrees
and up goes your life's resume,
but tell me,
how many lbs per sq. inch
does it take to crush a dream?

you, would be a...pansy.

there's something about watching an icelandic poppy die.
that is both depressingly ominous yet incomparably beautiful.

Friday, February 20, 2009

wood eye. would i?

Relish the speck and
ignore the plank.
If such were the case
I'd examine the factors.

But all of our eyes are
laden heavy,
With the 2 by 4's of our pasts.

I'd bring the matter to the table,
iffen I were so gutsy.
or if I thought for a second
that it was my place to judge.

But there lies a bulwark,
where my tongue meets my teeth.
Because here in these parts,
Hypocrisy is a fate worse than death.

why I write.

other than my pottery, it's my most comfortable medium of communication.
it may sound funny, but it's so much easier for me to pour my soul into a couplet then it is for me to answer a question about the same topic.
some poems will be in my head for weeks at a time.
they'll sit and percolate.
change, rearrange, reformat themselves.
delete and undo.
insert and enter.
even when I am sleeping.
I wish I could write down everything created in my head.
a running list of phrases and hooks. synonyms and rhymes.

I don't worry if people don't know what my poems are about.
If they did fully, they'd have no idea how to react.
The only reason I let anyone read the things I write,
is that I want them to feel.
I want images to pop into their heads.
I want them to think of someone who let them down.
I want them to recall a happy memory with a friend long gone.
I want them to feel at peace with the decisions they've made.
I want them to feel.
I think it's the best anyone can do nowadays.
With everything awful going on in the world, all these "emotions" circulate.
Carbon copies of carbon copies of emotions, never the real thing.
Diluted and weak. Almost too far from what they are meant to be.
We have become desensitizied to things that should normally appall us.
So when someone tells me that upon reading one of my poems they feel something, anything, then it's like.. divinity.
When someone tells me my poems are good, I count it as failure.
But when someone tells me they feel remorseful or contemplative or immeasurably excited, oh man.
I've done what I set out to do.

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

The Vigil.

The wax stains on the pavement,
are a constant reminder of
how quickly things change.

Peace into havoc.
Beauty into wreckage.
Oblivion into grief.
Love into unforgiveness.
Memories into despair.

As the sirens rang,
and word got around
we learned that June,
just how quickly things change.

Rumors into reality.
Knowledge into disbelief.
Strangers into comrades.
Comrades into strangers.
and tiny white candles, into wax,
that stained the faded pavement,
on that quiet country road.

Monday, February 16, 2009

Actual conversation:

(As I walk in to the kitchen around 8 o'clock I find my mother sitting at the bar on her macbook wearing my dad's new pro-am hat tilted to the side, a hooded sweatshirt, hood on of course, and a white turtleneck underneath.)


Me:What are you doing?
Mom: Yo yo yo! (Throws made up gang signs.)
Me: Mom, you can only look so hard in a turtleneck.
Mom: Whaaaaat? You mean my T-Necky?

You just can't make this stuff up kids.

Sunday, February 15, 2009

Sunday mornin' rain is fallin'.

This morning I woke up at four.
Then my dad and I left to the Pebble Beach National Pro-Am.
The parking lot was at an old military base and we had to go through security.
Security consisted of wiry nasally teenage boys in corporate sponsored ponchos.
Joy.
They proceeded to shove my bag into a tiny wooden box and told me "Ma'am you can't take this. It doesn't fit in the box."
Duh. My umbrella is in there. No normal umbrella will fit in your tiny preposturous wooden box. So I then had to empty out the contents of my bag for all eyes to see and put them in a clear plastic bag.
Then we got on a shuttle with a tour guide who did an interesting rendition of "Straight Down the Middle" by Bing Crosby and an even more interesting rendition of "Singin' in the Rain."
We step off the bus into torrential rain and 30+ mph winds/
Then we walked about half a mile through enough mud to soak the bottom six inches of my khakis.
After asking at least five different "security" guards if they knew where we were supposed to be going, we finally found someone who could point us in the right direction.
So we get to the Hertz skybox.
Glorious.
We had front row seats on the 18th fairway right by the green in a heated trailer.
The tournament was supposed to start at 7:30 and by this time it was 10:30.
They said play was postponed until 11:45.
11:45 came and went.
The weather was just too awful.
Play postponed until 12:45.
Play postponed until 1:45.
Play postponed until 3:45.
Canceled.
No golf.
So we ate lunch in the skybox and left.
After braving the elements again we got back to the shuttle and then back to the car.
To top off my wonderful excursion I now have food poisoning.
Hope you all had a better sunday than I did.

Friday, February 13, 2009

Matt Lauer does not approve.

Tonight was good.
Can't complain one bit.
I was a little hesitant at first about going out with Nathan and Sarah, because 1. I'm so much younger. 2. I felt like I was with Rachel's friends.
But it wasn't weird. The age difference although existent, did not affect the evening. We ate delicious sushi and drank delicious tea. Listened to wonderful music and had the best conversations I've had in a while. We made witty observations about the workers of starbucks, old kool-aid bottles, and we saw Lil' Kim. I was happy. I felt like I wasn't sixteen. I felt like they got me.

I'm convinced that I'm not 16. I don't feel it. I don't look it. I don't act it. How can I be? Physically, sure. I was born 16 years ago. But who I am is not what I am physically. My body is like a casing on a sausage. Ok that's kind of gross.. Like the chocolate on a wonderball. Those things were the best. Ryan told me a while back that I have an old soul. I think he may be right.

On another note, I registered for my classes next year. I'll be a mid-year. December of this year and I'll have my diploma in hand, ready to leave.

Sunday, February 8, 2009

Tell me where your spirit has gone.

So I wait.
For the moment when,
the words you speak
begin to correlate
with what you mean.

Like puzzle pieces
laced with handfuls
of broken glass.

You create a mosaic.
a delicate disaster.
our eyes will envy,
but our fingertips are stained
with dried blood.

And in our mind,
our thoughts ripen
like summer pears.
We weigh the outcome.
Overanalyze.
and the words permeate:
is it worth it?

Wednesday, February 4, 2009

Preaching to the choir. (I didn't name it)



There was a sparrow,
who much like Icarus,
flew too close.
But her vice of choice,
was not the sun.

Rather, she flew too close,
to those
whose only wish
was to bring her harm.

Time and time again,
she'd fly too close.
And they'd steal
her tiny speckled feathers.

She liked the thrill,
but the feathers
on her fragile wings,
grew few and far between.

A constant reminder
of the traps she'd set,
it was self-inflicted
and entirely detrimental.

And with the loss,
her beauty faded.
and all that had set her apart
dissipated.
Like her tiny speckled feathers.

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

Two houses, both alike in dignity.



In fair Verona, where we lay our scene.

Monday, February 2, 2009

There is this tiny piece inside of me.

that needs to die.


not like a tumor or a tapeworm.
rather this personality flaw.
a terrible, awful, despicable piece of me.
it's the one that get's so angry upon just seeing certain people.
not that they're especially ugly or they flip me off or anything.
but it's the people who try to fool other people (or sometimes worse, themselves) into thinking they're someone they're not.
the closet alcoholics, the addicts, the cheaters, and fakes.
Yet countless parents, teachers, and peers are fooled into thinking that they're wonderful people.
and upon seeing them I just want to scream
"They're not who you think they are!"
"They're lying to you!"
"It's all a facade!"

But I can't.

because there is another part, a saving grace, that keeps me from yelling these things.
Sometimes I am thankful for it, other times I wish I could kick it in the kidneys.
I know that if I yelled everything I knew about every one of those people, they would be hurt.
But I also know that those people have hurt so many others along their concealed path of destruction.

The age old struggle of man against himself.
or rather girl against herself.

Sunday, February 1, 2009

I've come to the conclusion.

That the boy I am looking for is this;
He is a boy who is well on his way to becoming a man, yet in the transition he manages to hold near and dear to him the few precious childlike qualities that are too often "outgrown." i.e. child-like faith, appreciation for simple things, uninhibited laughter. and so on. He is able to distance himself from the animosity of things that surround us yet still be aware and well-informed.

Thursday, January 29, 2009

detrimental.

I really need to stop drinking.
it's getting out of hand.
it's ridiculous.
























I pee like eight times a day.
baha. you thought.

but that's just me.

superpoop.com
superpoop.com

Monday, January 26, 2009

kiddies.

my tom sawyer kids crack me up.
they ask so many questions.
and today they taught me the difference between a trumpet and a coronet.
Kerry was telling them how they shouldn't have stage fright with no audience.
Then he told Gavin to sing.
Gavin asked what to sing and Kerry told him any song he knew the words to.
"Mamma Miaaaaaaa! Here I go agai-aiiiin!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Highlight of my day.

Saturday, January 24, 2009

"Could you look me in the eye and tell me that you're happy now?

"So you're in Highschool?"
"Yep, I'm a junior."
"Oh.. is that the first year?"
"Oh,not at all I'm almost done with highschool."
"I don't want to go highschool."
"Well why not? I think it's much more fun than sixth grade."
"I'm scared Miss Hannah."
"Why is that?"
"I've seen movies, I don't like how mean everyone is."
"But Gavin, high school is not all like the movies."
"But I saw Mean Girls. Are there mean girls in high school?"
"Well, there are a lot of different types of people in high school. But as long as you have a few good friends, and just try to get along with everyone, you'll be fine."
"I don't know Miss Hannah."



This was probably the most meaningful conversation of my week. It just killed me to hear a tiny 11 year old say this, coupled with the most distraught look on his face. I didn't want to lie to him. I knew I had to tell him the truth, but it was so hard. Letting people down is something I try really hard to avoid, but this wasn't even my own doing. It's just the way everything is. High school is high school by no fault of my own. I think that's the worst part of it all.

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

obamachange.

I am tired of hearing the phrase "nice guys finish last."
Give it up.
Most guys who say it aren't even the true nice guys.
and honestly?
it works both ways.
"nice girls" finish last as well.
I am not perfect.
It would be delusional to ever even begin to think otherwise.
But I'm a nice enough girl.
but apparently, because I don't put out, I'm not exactly the type of girl most guys around my age like to date.
I get taken advantage of.
and used.
Sounds a whole lot like what these "nice guys" claim to be happening.
Right?

Another thing,
I am tired of being called beautiful by guys who say it because they either;
a. Don't want to use hot or sexy for fear of being thought of us a guy who only likes you for your body. (even though it's the truth)
b. Can't think of a better word.
or..
c. Say it because they think it's what you want to hear.
Beauty is so much more than simple outward appearances.
I just wish some people understood.



All I want is a nice guy.

Miss Hannah.

28 children between the ages of 7 and 12.
Three times a week.
I get to teach them all I know about acting, and how to along with each each other, and how to listen.
Such simple minds.
They warm up to people so easily.
No lack of trust, they think, and they do.
No questions asked.
Small personalities to match their small bodies.
I get to be crazy, and act weird and the coolest thing is;
They think I'm the cat's pajamas.
They compliment me and listen to me and ask me to help them.
Normally, I'd be self-concious, but these kids seriously think everything I do is funny.
It's inspiring.
To be less self-concious.
To be more trusting.
To be a good role model.
To be respectful.
Because now I realize these kids are watching.
and I have a feeling I am going to learn just as much from them, if not more, then they will learn from me.
and besides, they call me Miss Hannah, how adorable is that?

i think this makes me laugh a little too much.

toothpaste for dinner
toothpastefordinner.com

"Ugh, I hate when people do stuff."
"I know! It's like..... stop that, you know?"

Tuesday, January 20, 2009

can't we just all sit down in the middle of the road and hope for the best?

This weeks agenda.
Tomorrow: Go running.
Finish Chem HW before 5th period.
Lunch with Luke, Brent, and Chels.
Turn in application to the HYE LIFE.
TB test?
Direct small children.
Homework.
Practice geetar.
Movie with the boys?
Work on website stuff.

Thursday: Go running.
Finish designing my website.
Kunch with Krista and Blake.
Pre-calc test. killmenow.
Turn in more applications.
Direct small children.
Small groups at Shelly's house.
Chem Homework.


Friday:
thoroughly enjoy the lipsyncing competition
meet with the band?
bonfire?

Monday, January 19, 2009

for the angsty teen girl in all of us.

brief brave brevity.

What I do know.

As I am on my eternal quest for knowledge, one fact is continually being reiterated.
I sure do not know much.
Yet, as unsettling as this is, one thing is comforting.
Nobody knows everything.
(excluding God of course.)
and although I am striving to be a better christian and for lack of better words, be more "christlike," I know I will always be eons away from perfection and from knowing everything.
Normally, this fact would be disheartening, but not in this case.

Sunday, January 18, 2009

"I don't make plans. Because with plans, the perfect outcome is only the best you ever imagined. and I always sorta wanted more than that."

I volunteered to help direct a 4th, 5th, and 6th grade production of Tom Sawyer.
Should be rather interesting.
Better than doing nothing after school.
Hopefully it will get my mind off of some things.
Like how I wish I was better at guitar.
and how I wish Rachel was still at home.
and how I want to see her already.
and how I'm pretty sure the guy of my dreams, although not dreamy, does not exist.
But on that subject...
More things I thought of today.
I want a boy to bake for.
and who texts me random thoughts. No matter how weird.
a boy who will play board games with me.
a boy who actually keeps his word after he messes up and says "I'll make it up to you."
a boy who is perfectly content with holding my hand, instead of trying to get in my pants.
and a boy to pray with.
and to talk about my faith with, better yet, help me grow in my faith without making me feel like a failure.
and a boy who tells me I'm smart, or funny, or creative, or loving just as often as he compliments me on my looks.
Chyeah I know. But a girl can dream.

cont..

He will NOT take me to the movies on the first date.
He'll open the door for me, but won't get mad if I open it for him sometimes too.
He won't say anything about me not eating meat.
He'll make eye contact, instead of staring at my chest.
He'll have good manners.
and be polite to other people i.e. waiters, or anyone of service.
We'll talk about important issues, or share witty anecdotes.

Saturday, January 17, 2009

I want..

a boy who comes to my door to get me.
and when I open it, he'll tell me I look _____(insert appropriate respectful adj.)
Then he'll open the car door.
He'll smile and I'll get in.
There will be good music, but not loud enough to eliminate conversation.

Thursday, January 15, 2009

Oh, darling let me go.

The things I have realized about my neighborhood part 1.
1.For not being a super-upscale neighborhood, they're sure are a lot of fancy foreign cars. i.e. porsches, mercedes...
2. Each street smells slightly different.
3. EVERYBODY makes eye contact, whether they wave or not.
4. There is a wandering cat for every three houses.
5. The house in which the last two owners committed suicide, is still up for sale. Funny.

Well, I drug your ghost across the country and we plotted out my death.
In every city, memories would whisper: "Here is where you rest."
I was determined in Chicago but I dug my teeth into my knees
and I settled for a telephone and sang into your machine.
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine
And I kissed a girl with a broken jaw that her father gave to her.
She had eyes bright enough to burn me.
They reminded me of yours.
And in a story told she was a little girl in a red-rouge, sun-bruised field
and there were rows of ripe tomatoes where a secret was concealed.
And it rose like thunder, clapped under our hands.
And it stretched for centuries to a diary entry's end where I wrote,
You make me happy oh!!
when skies are gray
You make me happy oh!!
when skies are gray and gray and gray.

-BrightEyes.

Sunday, January 11, 2009

Hank.

Is one of those people, who no matter what he says, always seems to make sense to me. We talked for around two hours tonight about life and self discovery and self value. For the first time in a while, I felt like someone understood my perspective on just about everything. I don't see Hank very often, but it's nice to have a friend you can truly be yourself around without the fear of them thinking any different of you. Someone who is chivalrous and kind, without trying to pick up on you. Someone who will look you in the eyes and tell you exactly what's on their mind, not meaningless conversation.

iffen.

you'd like to see how my brain works;
eat some banana flavored ice cream and listen to these songs.

1. It just happened that way - Andy Davis
2. Quicksand - Andy Davis
3. West Coast - Coconut Records
4. I will follow you into the dark - Death Cab For Cutie
5. Say Yes - Elliot Smith
6. Daniel's Song -The Finches
7. Mad World - Gary Jules
8. The fear you won't fall - Joshua Radin
9. Everything'll be alright - Joshua Radin
10. Seaside - The Kooks
11. Astair- Matt Costa
12. The World at Large - Modest Mouse
13. Fly With You - Pete Murray
14. Marco's In the Army - That Strange Red Afternoon
15. It's Not True - William Fitzsimmons

Saturday, January 10, 2009

paradoxical.

This whole situation has been, for lack of a better word, festering in my mind for almost two days now.
Last night definitely got my mind off things for a few hours, but when I got home I just started thinking and couldn't stop.
Even today my mind was just somewhere else.
I'm at the point where I'm not sure whether it's better to feel something, be it good or bad, than to feel nothing at all.






i still like him.

Friday, January 9, 2009

Dear God,

I've had a pretty "Job" week.
and I've been praying more, and gossiping less.
I know you're probably up there shaking your head, thinking, she just doesn't get it.
I don't get it.
Just when things were starting to get better.
WHABAM!
It has to be for the best,
and if it's not, I'm going to make it be for the best.



Inwardly, I wish I had the ability to never get attached to anything.
because things are often not what they seem to be
and when things are what they seem to be,
look harder.

Thursday, January 8, 2009

music.

"So I stand up
Feel the needles in my feet
And my legs are still asleep

But it's the morning
Fold the blankets
Shake the grass out of the sheets
Throw it all in my back seat
And drive you home

Yeah knowing me and knowing you
The stars could not have had a clue
We never meant to start this thing between us
It just happened that way
You know sometimes it does
Sometimes the planets align
And you both lose time
Can't change your mind

It just happened that way
No time to invest
You just pray for the best
And you say
It just happened that way
Just happened that way"

Monday, January 5, 2009

=/

I crashed today.
But it was my own fault.
My ankle does not seem to care who is to blame.
I have a feeling I'll be sore tomorrow morning.

Saturday, January 3, 2009

I'd ask the honest question.

If I knew for certain that I'd receive an honest answer.













Thus forth, I'll never ask.
Because in my head receiving a dishonest answer, is far worse than never knowing.

Friday, January 2, 2009

philosophizzle.

bad things happen.
good things happen.
it's inevitable.
but we learn from them.
and we move on.
and it's the best anyone can do.

Thursday, January 1, 2009

miserable.

what a lovely way to start out the year.